


Illusory Bridges

by princelogical



Series: Sanders Sides Misc. Work [29]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bittersweet, Crying, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, No matter how nice they are lol, Patton gets in a car with strangers so don’t do that kids, patton angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princelogical/pseuds/princelogical
Summary: It’s a dark place to be in- grieving on Christmas Eve. Here Patton is, doing that, blowing his last three dollars of spending money on a muffin at the bakery by his house. At least the people working are kind… more kind than Patton can really handle.





	Illusory Bridges

Patton’s well aware that he probably shouldn’t be spending his last three dollars at the bakery. But he’s starving and he’s really not in the best of moods, so why should it really matter? He makes his way cautiously into the building, breathes in relief at the warm air, and stuffs his trembling hands in his pockets where his crumbled three dollars sits, tucked away safely.

The bakery is warm and misty in some way that Patton couldn’t explain if he wanted to. Several people chatter quietly in line and Patton takes his place at the back. He patiently waits his turn, rocking back and forth on his heels.

It’s busy and that doesn’t surprise Patton; it’s Christmas Eve, after all. Everyone wants dozens of treats to bring to family gatherings tomorrow. Patton tries to ignore that terrible feeling inside of him that creeps on when he’s not paying enough attention. The feeling of missing something and someone.

Usually, right now, he’d be baking with his step-dad. They’d be making cupcakes and cookies for tomorrow. His dad would watch them and snap pictures, wearing his ugly Christmas sweater. He and his dad would be making enough puns to make his step-dad roll his eyes.

But they’re not doing that. Instead, Patton stands in line at a bakery, alone, on Christmas Eve, trying to keep the tears at bay as he approaches the register when it gets to his turn. He glances at the worker’s badge that reads, “Roman,” then looks back up at his smiling face.

“Hello, sir! What can I get you today?”

“Can I get a… blueberry muffin please?”

“Of course!” Roman says cheerfully, typing something on his register.

“Thank you,” Patton says.

“No problem! Would you like a hot chocolate with that?” Roman asks. His smile is still in place, spreading from one side of his face to the other in the most beautiful and happy fashion.

“No thank you.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

“We really make good hot chocolate,” Roman says.

Patton swallows and forces himself to smile through his loss of pride. “I don’t have the money for a cup. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Oh! Oh, no, no, oh dear- I was offering one for free.”

Patton frowns, sucking in his bottom lip in confusion. “I hope… you’re not pitying me.”

“No. It’s Christmas! I’ve been giving hot chocolates out for free all day.”

“Your boss doesn’t mind that?” Patton asks.

Roman shakes his head. “Virgil doesn’t mind. So long as I don’t sing to the customers.”

Patton giggles. “Really?”

“Really really.”

“Okay then. I’ll have a small hot chocolate with my muffin, please,” he says.

“Sure. That’ll be three dollars.”

Patton pulls out the crumpled bills and hands them over, almost begrudgingly to Roman. His literal last three dollars of spending money. His dad will have a fit. Call him irresponsible. But then again, where does his dad have room to talk when, if not for Patton, the electric company would have shut off the lights ages ago? He doesn’t have room to say a word. But he will. Talk, that is. Greif is a hell of a drug and it’s somehow drove a huge barrier between Patton and his dad where there used to only be closeness and love.

“Roman?” a guy asks, walking over to the register. His badge reads, “Virgil.” He looks at least seven years older than Patton and maybe more than ten older than Roman; his dark purple shirt matches his dark dyed purple hair. He gives a nervous smile to Patton then turns back to Roman. “We’re out of muffins.”

Roman’s face twitches into a frown and turns apologetically to Patton. “We’re out of muffins.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he heard.” He turns to Patton. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Oh. Uhm…” He looks at the menu. Just his luck, all the items under or at three dollars are marked with little “sold out” stickers. Something ridiculous inside of him is tempted to burst into tears and run. The mature, grown-up adult part of swallows and says, “I’m sorry. I don’t really have the money for anything else.”

Virgil leans over to look at the menu over the register then to the crumbled three dollars still in Roman’s hand. Virgil turns back to Patton. “Tell ya what, dude. I’ll give you anything you want on the menu for the price of the muffin. Not your fault I didn’t bake enough this morning.”

“Oh no, you can’t do that-”

Virgil rolls his eyes and Patton flinches but Virgil’s smiling fondly. “I own this store, man. I assure you, I can.”

“Well then… uhm.” Patton doesn’t want to trouble them but he’s starving at this point and wants to sit in a booth quietly and maybe cry a little bit before they have to close. He skims for the cheapest thing on the menu as fast as he can. “Is a vanilla cupcake okay?” he asks.

“Of course,” Virgil says, taking over the register and taking the money from Roman. “What’s your name? For the order?”

“Patton.”

“All right, Patton,” Virgil says as the printer spits out a short receipt. “Your order will ready in just a sec.”

“Thanks.”

Patton steps aside and only has to wait a brief moment before Roman is handing over a tiny plate with a beautiful white cupcake in the middle of it and a small cup of hot chocolate that’s topped with whipped cream and cinnamon.

“Enjoy,” Roman says with a big smile and Patton can’t help but smile back.

He sits down in a booth in a more secluded corner, sets down his cupcake and drink, then slides in, tucking himself tiredly against the wall. Surprisingly, no tears come. He only feels the buildup of sadness and pain settle in his stomach and make him nauseous.

Still yet, he tries hard to enjoy his cupcake. And it is good, it really is. The cake is soft and fluffy and tastes kind of like the ones his dad would make when he was still happy and before his step-dad died and left a gaping hole in both of their hearts a year ago today.

The icing is coated in crystallized sugar and it’s so sweet and good and somehow, that’s the breaking point for Patton. He sobs quietly as he eats it, savouring each bite on his tongue, even though something inside him screams that he doesn’t deserve it. He chokes on half of the bites and then forces them down with gulps of hot chocolate that numb his throat.

“Sir? Sir, are you all right?” Patton forces himself to look up a worker wearing thick glasses and a dress shirt and tie. The bakery logo stamped apron doesn’t look quite right with the dressier attire. Patton makes note of the name tag which reads, “Logan.”

“Sorry,” Patton says and scrubs at his eyes. “I’m okay, kiddo.”

“I… I do not wish to intrude but I believe that you are communicating a falsehood.” He adjusts his glasses nervously. “May I get you anything? Another… hot chocolate, perhaps? Complimentary.”

“I don’t need one but thank you.”

Logan looks awkward. “Sir, it’s really no trouble.”

Patton swallows and forces a smile. “Okay. Fine. Thank you.”

Logan nods, returning his smile, and bustles off, only to quickly return with a new cup of hot chocolate that he sets in front of Patton. “May I take your plate?” he asks.

Patton nods. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Logan takes the empty cup and plate and walks off.

Patton sips at the hot chocolate, much slower this time. After he’s finished, he pushes it forward and finds himself feeling warm and tired and full. He tells himself he’s going to stand up but he’s so heavy… So tired. He soon slumps against the wall, arms tight around his chest, and his eyes flutter closed.

It feels like no time has passed when someone is gently shaking at his shoulder. Patton jerks awake and sees Logan leaning back, hands clasped together in front of him with an apologetic look on his face. His apron is gone.

“Sir, I am sorry, however, we are closed… Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” Patton says, movements slow and groggy. He sees Roman making his way over, hands stuffed in the pockets of a white and red coat. The bakery is empty, lights dimmed, and the ones in the back are completely off. Virgil stands off in the center of the store, watching on with keys in his hands and a black and purple hoodie in place of the purple shirt from earlier.

“You’re… closed,” Patton says stupidly, still sitting in the booth.

“Well, yeah,” Roman says. “But you looked so… tired. Virgil said to let you sleep until we finished up.”

This should feel like a murder plot. Or maybe a kidnapping one. But somehow, it doesn’t. It feels… like _something_ good and Patton can’t place it. Something warm. Something different. Patton shudders and pulls his coat closer to himself.

“Are you cold, darling?” Roman asks softly. Patton’s belly leaps at the kind nickname.

Patton shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. I’m sorry I’ve kept you. I should probably head home.” Somehow, the thought wrenches his heart apart. He never wants to leave this bakery, never wants to leave Roman or Virgil or Logan. He’s warm here, full for once, and just sleepy enough that if everyone were quiet, he could see himself nodding off again in this soft booth that smells like cinnamon. He forces himself to stand.

“Don’t be sorry,” Roman says. “You walked, didn’t you? There are no cars but Virge’s. It’s awfully cold out.”

Patton can’t find it in himself to lie. “I did walk but I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

“Preposterous,” Logan says, slipping on his coat. “It is far too cold for you to be walking.”

Virgil twists his key ring around his finger and nods. “Dude, Logan’s right. It’s freezing. Let me drop you off.”

“You don’t have to.”

With an eye roll, Virgil walks to the door and says, “I want to.” He pushes open the door, leaving no more room for argument.

The drive to Patton’s dad’s house isn’t awkward, somehow. Roman talks almost the whole way there in the back with Patton. He gushes about how the three carpool everywhere together and how Virgil loves to drive them everywhere. Virgil then cuts in and quips about how it’s the bane of his existence. But he’s smiling.

Logan asks Patton about school and they find out they are in two classes together. Logan rambles about his education major and then Roman rambles about his in the performing arts. Patton admits sheepishly about how he’s still undecided. Then Virgil reassures him, saying that he’ll figure it out in time. Apparently, Virgil did and has been out of college for five years now. Then Roman calls Virgil an old man and they’re both laughing as they pull into the driveway. Patton hates the heaviness in his heart that comes with opening the car door.

“Let me walk you up,” Roman says quietly. Patton nods and gets out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Roman follows suit and stuffs his hands in his pockets and aims a smile in Patton’s direction then hooks his arm around Patton’s, shoots him a goofy smile, and then they begin heading to the porch of the house.

“Thank you,” Patton says finally, stopping. It’s so cold that he can feel it in his bones and in his heart. But. Roman smiles so wide that it sets his heart aflame and momentarily, he can’t even breathe.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Padre. You just… you look a little sad. And you shouldn’t have to be sad. Especially on Christmas Eve. Is there anything I can do?”

Patton’s eyes grow damp and a warm tear traces his cheek, which he swipes away with his gloved hands. “I’m sorry. You’ve been wonderful. You don’t have to do anything else for silly ol’ me.”

Roman’s eyes look strangely solemn compared to the smile still placed on his face. “You’re not silly, Patton.”

“I like to be silly.”

“Fine,” Roman says with a breathy laugh. “But you’re significant. And I hate how you imply that you’re not.”

Somehow, that’s worse and Patton swallows down a handful of sobs and lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Roman’s waist. Something whispers that it’s okay. And it is. Roman wraps his arms around Patton and lays a hand on the back of his head, patting gently at his overgrown curls.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers. He doesn’t want to pull away, his heart aches at the idea, but he does, hands shaking as he forces them inside his pockets. Roman’s eyes are suspiciously teary as well and he plasters his smile back on and pats Patton’s shoulder.

“Don’t be. Hey, you doing anything tomorrow?”

Patton shakes his head. “No.”

“Why don’t you stop by the bakery tomorrow? We can have some of Virgil’s chocolate chip walnut pie. On the house. It’s absolutely delicious.”

“Are you sure I won’t be a bother?”

Roman’s eyes do that thing again where they look like they’re fighting off some wave of… of _something_ from spreading across his face. “No, darling.”

Patton’s cheeks heat up, colouring red. He manages a smile in return. “I’ll be there then.”

“Fantastic! You better be.” Roman winks. “You have a good night and be safe, okay?”

Patton nods. “I… I will.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” Roman turns and starts to walk away. Patton swallows. “Hey, Roman?” he calls out.

Roman turns around with a confused smile. “Yes?”

“I promise I’ll be there tomorrow. I promise.”

Roman’s smile widens. “I know. See you then.”

Patton waves and watches Roman get in the car. Patton bundles his coat tighter around himself and makes his way to the door, which he unlocks. Virgil’s car doesn’t pull away until he closes the door behind him. The house is silent. No one greets him but a note on the table where he drops his keys.

_Patton,_

_When you get home, clean your room, please. It’s been a junkyard since you got home._

_-D._

Patton swallows down his anger and sadness. His dad just… doesn’t realise. Doesn’t understand the slump he’s been in. Doesn’t understand that his grief isn’t the only grief that lives in this house. Patton makes his way up the stairs and peeks into his dad’s room. He’s staring at the ceiling, not sleeping, as usual.

“Dad?” he says quietly.

“Hm.”

“I’m home.”

“Good.”

Patton swallows. “I’ve got plans for tomorrow.”

His dad’s gaze flicks from the ceiling to Patton. “Do you?”

“Mhm… Are you, uhm… doing anything?”

His dad slowly shakes his head and in the dim moonlight slipping through the blinds, Patton sees tears glinting in his eyes. Patton sends a quiet prayer up to heaven- that maybe his dad will get a taste of the kind of kindness and warmth Patton has experienced tonight.

Patton starts to walk away when his dad says quietly, “Hey, Pat?”

“Yes?”

“I know things have been rough lately but… I love you.”

Patton closes his eyes. Allows a few tears to escape. “I love you too.”

“Merry Christmas, buddy.”

“Merry Christmas, dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a mixed bag of emotions lately and I just kind of word vomited this up. I hope it’s all right.


End file.
